"You won't find anyone here," he said. "This place hasn't been used since I was a kid. There's a river over there through the trees." He pointed to some ramshackle buildings that were barely visible in the dusky light. "That's the bunkhouse and the sawmill. It's a bad- luck place. My father said they had lots of accidents. They built a new camp downriver where they could float the logs to market quicker."

Austin had more temporal things on his mind. "The light's fad- ing. We'd better get moving."

They rounded up their rucksacks and broke into two groups. The NUMA men, Nighthawk and the Aguirrez brothers would be the assault group. The muscular Basques moved with an air of assurance that suggested they were no strangers to clandestine missions.

The two pilots, who were also heavily armed, would wait for a call to provide backup. Ben led the way into the forest, and they went from dusk to darkness the second they were under the trees. Each man except the last in line carried a small halogen flashlight, which they held beam-pointed-down as they followed Ben, who moved through the woods as silently and as swiftly as a woodland wraith. They traveled between a walk and a trot for several miles, making good time on the soft carpet of pine needles, until Ben finally called a halt. They stood in the piney darkness, panting with exertion, sweat pouring down their faces.

Ben cocked his ear, listening. After a moment, he said, "We're less than a mile away."

Zavala slipped the shotgun off his shoulder. "Time to make sure our powder is dry."

"Don't worry about the guards," Ben said. "They're all on the lakeside. Nobody would expect us to come in this way."

"Why not?" Zavala replied.

"You'll see. Make sure you don't get ahead of me," Nighthawk said, and without another word, he pushed on. Ten minutes later, Ben slowed his pace to a walk. Advising them to proceed with care, he brought the group to an abrupt halt at the edge of a chasm. Austin flashed his light on the steep vertical walls, then pointed it downward toward the sound of rushing water. The beam exhausted itself before reaching the river far below.

"I think I know why there are no guards on this side," Zavala said. "We took a wrong turn and ended up on the north rim of the Grand Canyon."

"This is called 'Dead Man's Leap,' " Ben said. "The people around here aren't very original when it comes to naming things." "They make their point well enough," Austin said.

Zavala looked to the right and the left. "Can we detour around this little ditch?"

"We'd have to travel another ten miles through thick forest," Ben said. "This is the narrowest point. The lake is a half mile from here." "I remember an Indiana Jones movie where they crossed a chasm on an invisible bridge," Zavala said.

"Ask and you shall receive," Austin said, as he removed his back- pack. He unsnapped the flap and pulled out a coil of nylon rope and a compact folding grapnel.

Zavala's eyes widened. "You never cease to amaze me, amigo. Here I was thinking I was well prepared because I brought a Swiss army knife with the corkscrew. I'll bet you have a bottle of fine wine in your little baggie as well."

Austin produced a pulley and rappelling harness. "Before you nominate me for a Boy Scout merit badge, I should confess that Ben told me we'd have to cross this moat before we scaled the castle walls."

Austin warned everyone to give him room. He stepped danger- ously close to the rim, whirled the grapnel over his head and let it fly. The first try fell short and clanged against the chasm wall. Two other tosses landed on the other side but failed to hook on. On the fourth throw, the hooks wedged into a cleft between some rocks. Austin be- layed the other end of the rope to a tree and tested his weight to see if the grapnel would hold. Then he attached the pulley and rap- pelling harness to the rope, took a deep breath and stepped out into space.

By the time he reached the other side, he seemed to be moving at Mach 2. A clump of bushes cushioned his landing. Using a retrieval line, Zavala pulled the pulley back, attached Austin's backpack and sent it over. After the rest of their gear was transported the same way, Zavala and Ben made the next crossing, then the two Basques followed.

They gathered up their packs and kept on moving through the woods until they began to see will-o'-the-wisp lights sprinkled among the trees like the campfires of a gypsy encampment. They could hear the muffled sounds of machinery.

Ben brought them to a halt. "Now you can worry about the guards," he whispered.

Zavala and the Basques slipped their weapons off their shoulders and Austin loosened the flap on his belt holster. He had studied the satellite photos of the complex, trying to glean the layout as best he could even without the dome. Ben had helped fill in the gaps.

The zeppelin dome lay a short distance from the lake, surrounded by a network of paved walkways and roads that connected several smaller buildings hidden in the woods. He asked Ben to take him to where he saw the dome. While the others waited, the Indian led the way through the woods to the edge of a tarmac path that was lit by low-intensity, ankle-high lights. Seeing that the way was clear, they quickly crossed the tarred path into another patch of woods.

At one point, Ben stopped, then raised his hands like a sleepwalker and began to move toward the trees barring their way. He stopped again and whispered for Austin to do the same. Austin followed with arms outstretched until his hands were about to touch the shadowy tree trunks. But instead of rough bark, his palm encountered a smooth, cold surface. He put his ear against the exterior and heard a low humming. He backed off and saw the tree trunks again. Adap- tive camouflage has a great future, he thought.

He and Ben quickly retraced their path and rejoined the others. Austin suggested that they investigate the outbuildings. They would regroup in fifteen minutes.

"Don't take any wooden Eskimo pies," Zavala said, as he slipped away into the darkness.

Pablo hesitated. "What if we're discovered?"

"If you can do so quietly, neutralize anyone who sees you," Austin said. "If not, and all hell breaks loose, escape the way we came."

"What about me?" Ben asked. "You've done enough leading us here. Take a rest."

"I can't rest until my family is safe." Austin didn't blame Ben for wanting to find his family. "Stay close behind me." He drew his Bowen from its holster and waited until the others had melted into the darkness. Then he motioned for Ben to follow, and they struck off along the pathway, sacrificing the cover of the woods for speed.

They could hear activity from the direction of the lake, but the way was clear, and before long, they came across a long, low building. It was unguarded.

"Shall we?" Austin said to Ben. They stepped inside. The build- ing was only a storage warehouse. They made a quick inspection and headed back to the rendezvous. Zavala showed up a few min- utes later.

"We checked out a warehouse," Austin said. "Did you find any- thing exciting?"

"I wish I hadnt Zavala said. "I'm swearing off fish and chips forever. I think I hit the Frankenfish mother lode."

' He described the strange, deformed creatures that he had seen in the building he'd investigated. It took a lot to disrupt Zavala's natu- ral calm, but from the tone of his voice, he was clearly rattled by the mutant monsters in the fish tanks. "Sounds like the things in your finny freak show constitute the prototype models," Austin said.